


Pain Of Uncertainties

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Dates, Kissing, Mentions of Suicide, Mouth Kink, Suicidal Thoughts, the courfeyrac/feuilly is just a background pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire hears something he shouldn't have from Enjolras - later, they discuss, communicate, and come close. Warning for talk of suicide and suicidal thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire wiped a heavy hand over his face as he moved down the corridor to the backroom of the Musain, letting out a drawn-out yawn. He had projects to work on when he went home, but for now he was more than content to spend a few hours in the Musain laughing and joking with Joly and Bossuet, and maybe arguing with the blond in red if Enjolras was in the mood.

Combeferre and Enjolras were the only ones in the backroom so far, Enjolras sat at one of the tables with his head bent over a series of papers, Combeferre standing behind him, looking over his shoulder. Grantaire might have guessed Combeferre were a trainee doctor just to look at him, were they strangers, and the concept struck him as an odd one.

Did people look at Grantaire and think him an artist? He did not know. Moreover, he was not certain he really cared.

“They were suicidal.” Combeferre said, and Enjolras let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“Yeah, well. If only I had a barricade to throw myself on instead of a pill bottle in the cabinet.”

“Enjolras.”Combeferre’s tone was quiet, reproachful, and Enjolras let out a quiet groan as he dropped his head to the table.

“God, I’m sorry. That was unfair.” Enjolras’ apology came out desperately, with a near-tears edge to it, but Combeferre’s reply was gentle.

“It was honest, which I prefer to fairness.” Combeferre murmured quietly, and his hand moved from where it had been rested on Enjolras’ shoulder to gently stroke over the younger man’s back. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not though, is it?”Grantaire took a few quiet steps back in the corridor, and then feigned footsteps followed by a stumble, letting out a loud  _oof_  as he fell forwards and into the backroom. “Grantaire.” Enjolras greeted, offering a plastic smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “You’re early.”

“My walls were staring at me.” Grantaire said by way of cryptic explanation. He did not attempt to discuss what he had heard, nor make any indication that he’d heard anything at all, and Enjolras had relaxed a little, apparently relieved to escape a hard conversation.

And really, who was he to judge? He’d considered it a dozen times himself.

He set the bottle he’d ordered from Louis down on the table, biting at his lip and worrying the skin under his teeth.

“You could sit with us, you know. Nothing’s stopping you.” Enjolras said, and Grantaire looked up, regarding him with bafflement.

“In your good graces this evening, am I,  _m’lord_?” Enjolras’ cheeks flushed scarlet.

“I didn’t mean- it wasn’t an imperative.” He muttered, looking fixedly at the work in front of him, and Grantaire felt a twinge of guilt.

“I’m teasing, Enjolras, calm that pretty head of yours.” He said, and the recovery was easy enough – Enjolras relaxed slightly, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Oh.” He said in a soft voice as Grantaire settled across from him before pulling his tablet out of his bag, getting on with a few half-finished sketches. Combeferre shook his head.

“Both of you are ridiculous.” He said firmly, and Grantaire winked at him for the sake of seeing Combeferre’s amused expression. Enjolras kept his head bowed, slowly getting on with his work, and Grantaire let him continue on, not interrupting. Joly and Bossuet soon arrived, and he dropped his tablet to join his two friends in deep conversation, back and forthing with various jokes until Courfeyrac arrived and began excitedly informing them of a demonstration currently occurring in the south of Germany.

Feuilly arrived at just the right moment, correcting the points Courfeyrac had gotten wrong and clarifying those he was vague about – a stranger might have thought it cruel, but Feuilly's smile was fond, and he worked his translation of Courfeyrac's ramblings with a comfortable hand affectionately curled around the younger man's hip.

Courfeyrac settled in Feuilly's lap to discuss the news story, vociferating brightly and brilliantly and gesticulating with his hands, wildly enough that he might have dislodged himself from his seat if Feuilly weren't holding him around his middle. Grantaire smiled a little as he watched the two of them together, enjoying Feuilly's bright smile and Courfeyrac's excited _everything,_ because they fit together well, and moreover, were happy as such.

Grantaire looked to Enjolras, and stopped himself from letting out a sigh. He had a passion for the blond man, a true appreciation for his angry expostulation, his glorious arguments, his furious attack on all things unequal and unfair to all men. Now, Enjolras looked exhausted. He had exams going on, and rallies to plan come July and August, a dozen plans for various community projects scattered around him. There were bags under his eyes and his hands shook, and regularly he took a desperate sip of something that could have been coffee or could have been some energy drink – either way, Grantaire was certain it was full of caffeine.

Grantaire's lip curled. Everyone had their coping mechanisms, but he wasn't certain what Enjolras' were, or even if he had some sort of net to fall back on when it all came on too much. He wondered if it was rude to ask about that.

Especially given that Enjolras hated Grantaire.

Grantaire wondered sometimes what the value would be of trying to be civil to Enjolras, but the one time he had attempted to feign agreement with Enjolras' ridiculously optimistic idealism, Enjolras had gazed upon him stonily, and Combeferre had quietly advised that Grantaire not attempt dishonesty again if he valued Enjolras' friendship at all.

But then, were they friends? Really, truly? Grantaire didn't think so. They barely conversed, and while they were in possession of each other's phone numbers, they did not text or talk bar to exchange contact numbers, addresses and base details for rallies or meetings or, in one case where Enjolras had called rather desperately upon Grantaire, charity work in the community (this, of course, had involved Grantaire reluctantly donning Santa's beard and fat suit at the hospital, which Courfeyrac usually put himself through, but had missed for having been ill).

Grantaire watched Enjolras let out quiet sighs, obviously restraining himself from letting out actual noises. He looked awful. Pretty cheeks were marred by shadows under his eyes, which were tired and dead, and usually gorgeous lips were chapped.

Grantaire said, as he had a dozen times before, fuck you to social convention. He moved forwards, settled across from Enjolras at the table and cleanly removed the papers from under his hands, setting them aside in a neat pile. “What do you think you are doing?”

“I think we're going for a walk.” The others were distracted, but Combeferre watched the both of them, catching Grantaire's eye and giving him a subtle nod of approval.

“We are _not_ , Grantaire, I have no care for your drunken ridicule-”

“I'm not ridiculing you, Enjolras, I am _telling_ you: we are going out for a walk, and you are going to relax a little. And then, I think, you need to put your work aside, turn your phone off for once, and sleep for twelve hours or so.”

“Combeferre has tried this, and-”

“Combeferre gives a fuck about your opinion. Enjolras, _stand_.” The blond did, and although his face betrayed reluctance, his reaction to the order was sharp and obvious – enough so that the others turned to regard the both of us. “Don't mind us, boys, we're just heading out for an hour or so.”

“Oh, I bet you are.” Bahorel said, and Grantaire shot him a lascivious wink, drawing a laugh from him and an affronted glance from Enjolras. Grantaire lifted Enjolras' coat from behind his chair, holding it out for Enjolras to put his arms into. As they walked down the corridor, the blond said sharply, “You needn't have done that. I'm not a child. I can put on my own coat.”

“Ah, not a child, and yet he sleeps not, eats not, and fucks himself over for his petty little causes.”

“They're not _petty_ , you ingrate, they-”

“Enjolras, none of it is worth killing yourself over.” Grantaire had meant the exhaustion and the forgetting to eat, but Enjolras stopped short to regard him with wide eyes, and Grantaire remembered what he had overheard upon entering the Musain.

“I-” Both of them looked at the floor, not meeting each other's eyes – the ever-clever snark and the perfect orator both speechless. “How did you know-”

“I meant the starvation and sleep deprivation, but that you've considered- I mean-” Grantaire sighed, putting his hands on his face and wiping over his skin. “I heard the back-end of your conversation with Combeferre, and God, I'm sorry, I wasn't eavesdropping, I just-” Grantaire closed his eyes, dropping back against the wall. “Look, let's just go for a walk, get a drink, maybe some pizza.. We could go over to the Butte Mont-”

“Too many tourists.” Enjolras said immediately, and Grantaire laughed at him.

“Le Parc Robinson then.”

“Where's that?”

“Other side of the river., get pizza in Clichy and keep walking. It's by the dog cemetery.”

“Romantic.” Enjolras commented, and Grantaire chuckled.

“Aren't gonna be any tourists though, are there?”

“Fair.” Enjolras allowed, and they began making their way through Clichy. They bought small pizzas, and Grantaire was not at all surprised by Enjolras' choice of a simple pizza of only cheese, ham and tomato, and Enjolras was completely surprised by Grantaire's vegetarian feast.

“Do you not eat meat?”

“Not often.” Grantaire said simply, and they walked together, boxes in hand.

They ended up sitting on the grass, bottles of water in hand, boxes open between them. “Is this a date?” Enjolras asked in a little voice after they ate in silence for a while, and Grantaire looked up, regarding Enjolras tiredly.

“Calm down, man. I know you're not interested. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, you know?” Enjolras looked down at his food.

“The thing about the pills- I'm sorry you heard that.” Enjolras murmured. “I wasn't- I mean, I don't plan on-”

“My plan was always the wrists.” Enjolras looked up at him, his chapped lips parting, quivering slightly in the dim light from the moon above, stars invisible for the sake of light pollution and carbon dioxide. “Messier, but you know, I could never do pills. I can barely swallow one, let alone a bottle.” Enjolras swallowed now, taking in a gulp of bare air. “I just mean, like, it's not just you.” Grantaire's voice sounded painfully hoarse all of a sudden, and he didn't want to talk any more, but he needed to. “You and me are probably in worse places than others, but we're all struggling.”

Enjolras bowed his head, putting his face in his hands. “God, I feel so bad for Combeferre. He tells me to tell him everything and I don't _want_ to tell him this.”

“You feel guilty. At the idea of leaving everyone behind. It's too selfish.”

“Yes.” Enjolras whispered. Grantaire took slow bites of his pizza, quiet for a few moments. “Is that what stopped you?”

“Yeah. Joly and Bossuet would take themselves apart over it. Bahorel wouldn't know how to deal. Jehan would write poetry, maybe even bring out a whole fucking anthology, but he still wouldn't be right over it. And Courfeyrac and Combeferre and Feuilly, God, I don't even know.” Grantaire said quietly, and his lips went to the bottle of cola in his hand, wishing it were brandy, or whiskey, or absinthe. Enjolras regarded him for a moment.

“You didn't say my name. I would care.” Grantaire shrugged, but Enjolras pushed his knee firmly. “I would, Grantaire. You- I- It's not as if I hate you merely because we are at odds. I resent the way you provoke me, but not _you_. Never you.”

“I would care if you were gone.” Grantaire returned quietly. “Who else would I provoke? Am I to find your gravestone, argue with your corpse, toast you as I hold both sides of some ridiculous philosophical argument?” Enjolras let out a laugh at the image, surprised, and he put a hand over his mouth, his cheeks flushing.

“That's not funny.” Enjolras said, biting his lip and trying not to giggle. The image was clear in his mind, Grantaire scoffing as he leaned against one gravestone and glared at another, and it _shouldn't_ have been funny: it was morbid, odd, disrespectful, and yet he laughed.

“It is. It's just dark.” Grantaire insisted, amused. “You should laugh more. You look good when you laugh.”

“You look good when you do.” Enjolras returned. “Properly, like, without the bitterness.”

“I am a bitter man, my friend.” There was a silence.

“You know, there's a quote somewhere that says cynics are just disappointed idealists.”

“What a ridiculous saying.”

“You don't think there's value in it?”

“On the contrary, I think it's spot-on.” He took a small swig from the bottle. “I'm sorry, you know. For the provocation. To start with, I just wanted to get your attention somehow, and that was easy. I didn't get Combeferre on my ass like Marius did.” Enjolras snorted, thinking of the boy that occasionally appeared at the Musain and whom Courfeyrac adored as a brother.

“I'm sorry for being so sharp with you.” Enjolras murmured. “Really, it's not that I try to be vicious, I just don't have the patience for your cynicism. I didn't understand why you kept coming.”

“I came for you.” Enjolras shifted, thoughtful. “I came for you, and then for Joly and Bossuet, and then Bahorel and Jehan, and then everyone. It's not a bad cause. It's just unrealistic.”

“It's not unrealistic. If the people would just unite-”

“Enjolras, it's not about getting them to unite.” Grantaire said, and he lay back on the grass, next to Enjolras. “Everyone has suffered years of indoctrination, telling them not to care for politics, for law, for equality. Everyone is conditioned to be politically apathetic. That's why there are participation crises occurring across the Western world, it's why no one considers their politicians, why people complain but never vote. You have to get them to realize that before you can muster passion, and that's near impossible. You work on too large a scale, when you should think small and span outwards.”

Enjolras stared at him, his mouth opening and closing. “Well, why don't you ever _say_ that? Why do you just stop me short and tell my I'm stupid?”

“It's funnier.” Enjolras slapped Grantaire's chest, and the brunet laughed. “Oh, I don't know. Because I'm a moron. Because I don't want people to laugh. Because you talk too fast and I never get a chance to. Because you might punch me. Because you might lose your hope.” _Like I did_ went unsaid, but Enjolras seemed to hear the words all the same.

Enjolras gazed upon Grantaire, taking in the shadows under his eyes that he'd never seen him without, the stubble on his jaw, the scarred lips and sharp eyes that were echoing Enjolras' piercing regard. “I don't think I'll ever lose hope.”

“I don't want you to.” Enjolras' hand moved, slowly, in an inching fashion, and he grasped Grantaire's hand in his own. Grantaire's fingers were thicker than Enjolras', his hands bulkier where Enjolras' were slender, but he knew that Grantaire could paint, play piano, box, and he examined the hand in his, taking in the scars and lingering bruises across Grantaire's knuckles.

“I wish you hadn't.”

“If I hadn't, I wouldn't be here.”

“True.” Enjolras didn't know what he was doing. He swallowed hard as he held Grantaire's hand in both of his own, evaluating its weight in his, biting at his own lip.

“What are you doing?”

“I don't know.” Enjolras whispered, and God, he was _exhausted_ , and he didn't need to consider this on top of that, didn't need to worry about Grantaire, didn't want to think about the pill bottle in his cabinet, behind the pack of plasters and a bottle of cough medicine.

“That's okay.” Grantaire murmured, and he offered Enjolras a smile that was drowsy and detached, comforting in a way Enjolras could not quantify. “I don't know anything.” And he stroked over Enjolras' palm with a clever thumb, the sensation an unexpected delight.

“You do. You just think you don't.”

“Ah. The cynic's tragedy.” Grantaire said, tone dripping with irony and amusement, and Enjolras snorted. “Prouvaire has literally said those words to me, like, seriously, and I think it's hilarious.” Enjolras grinned a little, looking down at the grass and not letting go of the other's hand, keeping it close because it was warm and spattered with paint stains and surprisingly pleasant in his grasp.

He reached up and grasped at Enjolras' shirt lapel, pulling him downwards so that his head was directly above Grantaire's, and when Enjolras inhaled he smelt oil paint and brandy and cigarette smoke and something fruity that might have been shampoo. He closed his eyes. Grantaire tasted strawberries on the air, took in the scent of Enjolras' cologne and ink and a woody scent underneath it all. He pulled Enjolras an inch closer, and pressed his mouth to the blond's.

Enjolras hummed against Grantaire's lips, leaning into it while his mind screamed that Grantaire didn't want this, couldn't want this, but God, the brunet's lips felt heavenly against his own and he didn't have the willpower to pull away.

When they parted, Enjolras looked down at Grantaire, he realized both of them were breathing heavily, but in synchronization with each other. He wondered if that was subconscious, psychological, or if it was accidental.

“I've wanted to do that for a long time.” Grantaire admitted in a quiet voice, hand moving up from Enjolras' shirt collar to stroke over a hairless cheek instead, his eyes flitting cautiously over Enjolras' face. “I would like to do this, to date you. I can't promise a serenade, but I respect you, Enjolras, and I would do my best to make you smile.”

“I can't make you happy.” Enjolras whispered.

“No, Enjolras, but that's not what relationships are for.” Grantaire agreed in a soft tone, and he gently tapped Enjolras' face before putting his hand back on the ground. “We're not meant to fix each other, or heal each other. We just... Compliment.”

“Compliment.” Enjolras repeated, and Grantaire shrugged, slowly.

“I don't want to force you. If you don't want this, I would never push.” Enjolras stared at Grantaire, examined him, analysed him, with those clever, all-too-piercing eyes. Grantaire swallowed as the stare went on for a little longer than he was really comfortable with, and he shifted, uncomfortable.

“If we communicate.” Enjolras said, tone low. “Only then. No provocation, no beating around the bush. Honesty.”

“You are a verifiable Apollo.” Grantaire said, and Enjolras tilted his head. “God of archery, the sun, light, healing, but also of truth. You are the sun.”

“Are you Icarus?”

“Never.”

“Then what?” Grantaire peered up at Enjolras.

“Am I Artemis?” Enjolras laughed.

“Are you chaste?” Grantaire let out a gasp.

“So rude, and presumptuous to boot! For all you know I am positively virginial!”

“Are you?”

“No, not at all.” Grantaire said, and Enjolras smiled; Grantaire enjoyed it. “We said we'd be an hour.”

“We've been forty minutes or so.”

“Do you want to walk back?”

“Through Clichy? No, not really.”

“Would you like to stay at mine?” Enjolras blinked at him, taken aback, and Grantaire backtracked rapidly. “No, I just mean, like, it's closer, and we could watch a movie or something, I didn't-”

“Yeah, I know.” Grantaire closed his mouth. Enjolras closed his own, and drummed his fingers on the back of Grantaire's hand. “I would like to go home with you. If it would be no imposition.”

“I invited you, didn't I?” Enjolras nodded and stood, gathering their empty pizza boxes and his empty cola bottle, dropping them into a bin as they moved back towards the bridge. They walked apart for a few minutes, until Enjolras took a step closer, so they were in more proximity. It was Grantaire who bit the bullet, linking his arm with Enjolras' before interlinking their fingers.

“I like this.” Enjolras said. “We should do this. This, tactile, together. If not- if you don't want more, I would like to have this.”

“Me too.”Grantaire murmured, rubbing his thumb over Enjolras' palm. “We don't have to be official. S'not like we have to have a contract. I mean, we can have a contract. But not tonight. You'll need your whiteboard.”

“Don't mock my whiteboard.”

“I am _respecting_ your whiteboard.” Grantaire retorted, and Enjolras grinned a little. The whiteboard was an in-joke amongst _les amis_ – Enjolras' whiteboard was large and on wheels, and usually graced his and Combeferre's shared apartment, but occasionally it was transported down to the Musain so he could plan upon it. “I think it's endearing.”

“You're a dick.”

“I _totally_ am.” Grantaire agreed, and then Enjolras had grabbed his scarf, pulling him close to capture Grantaire's lips with his, earning a soft moan against his lips as the brunet leaned into it. “Mmm, I like that too.”

“You should kiss me other places.” He said, the invitation soft, gentle, with an edge of plea. Grantaire chuckled.

“I shall, but first, we are going to go home, and I am going to take off my clothes and then take off _your_ clothes, and we are going to curl together on my couch and take an entire day's sleep.”

“An entire day's?”

“Let's sleep for 24 hours. We can do it: I believe in us.” And then Grantaire's hands were on Enjolras' hips and he lifted the blond up before throwing him over his shoulder, running with Enjolras loudly vociferating his protest.

“Put me down!”

“I shan't!”

“I will- kick-” Enjolras could not kick – Grantaire had lifted him too high and he couldn't get the right angle with his legs. When Grantaire finally put him down, both of them were laughing, and Grantaire pulled Enjolras up the stairs to his apartment. “Twenty four hours, huh?” Enjolras asked, and the breaths he took in were tinged with lingering laughter.

“Come _on_ , blondie. When's the last time you took a lazy day?” Enjolras stepped into Grantaire's apartment with a slight smile, penning a rapid text to Combeferre before dropping his phone on the side and leaving it there.

“Fine. But just one day.”

“Of course, _mon ami_. Have you ever known me to corrupt?” And Grantaire's wink sent Enjolras into new peals of laughter as he pulled pointedly at Grantaire's scarf, pulling it off and throwing it aside.

Enjolras and Grantaire both laughed until well into the morning, and when they finally slept, it was not just with a day's fatigue and exhaustion, but with the comfortable, happy drowsiness associated with late night philosophizing and romance.  


	2. Chapter 2

When Enjolras woke up, he realized that he was firmly naked of his clothes. This was not too strange, for Enjolras usually slept nude, and even when he napped on the couch occasionally after a long day, he would not be  _tout habillé_.

But of course, this was not his couch, or indeed, his apartment. This was Grantaire's.

He blinked sleepily at the contents of the room, at the shelves covered more with knick-knacks and jars of candy or dried fruit or nuts or something that might have been jam and one thing that looked a lot like a mouse carcass suspended in fluid. Enjolras squinted at this last jar, but he and Grantaire had a mutual friend in Jehan Prouvaire, and Enjolras had got his own selection of morbid gifts over the years.

Blearily, he looked to Grantaire, who was still sleeping. He looked peaceful like this, even with Enjolras' likely sharp chin digging against his chest, even with Enjolras' hair tickling his chest and the smaller man's weight on his body. Without opening his eyes or losing his peaceful, serene expression, Grantaire's lips moved, and he said, "Stop staring at me. I'm self-conscious."

"Maybe I like to look at art in my mornings." Grantaire groaned.

"Pathetic! Two out of ten!" Enjolras chuckled a little, pressing his cheek to Grantaire's chest instead and shifting closer. "Ah, yes, the humble snugglebug. Blond, blue-eyed and with dangerously sharp edges," Enjolras laughed. "It is a wild species to be found in backwater bars in the centre of Paris."

"The Musain isn't-"

"Defensive, indignant and prone to quick bouts of passionate oration, the species is more amusing than it is dangerous." Enjolras fell into laughter against Grantaire's skin, holding him closely with his fingers pressed warmly to the other's naked thigh.

It was strange to consider that they were naked, that they were lying atop one blanket with a thick duvet draped over them, but God, it was so  _warm_ , and comfortably so, even if they were sprawled across Grantaire's couch instead of his bed. 

"You're ridiculous."

"Why, thank you. I do try." Grantaire said, putting on a voice of airs, and Enjolras grinned, running his fingers from Grantaire's hip down his thigh and up again, enjoying the feel of the warm flesh beneath his own. "Would you like to get up?"

"Not really."

"Well, you should probably let me get up."

"Why should I?"

"Do you want to be drenched in piss?"

"Not really."

"Then you should get up." Enjolras moved back reluctantly, and Grantaire stood, stretching his shoulders above his head and causing the muscle in his back to strain. Enjolras' eyes dropped down to his ass, and he let out a half-hearted wolf-whistle as he flopped forwards, occupying the deliciously warm space Grantaire had been in moments before. 

Grantaire put his head over his shoulder, winked, and wiggled his ass invitingly before he moved out of the living room, and Enjolras laughed a little against the couch, inhaling and taking in the scent of Grantaire. 

"How was your piss?" Enjolras asked lazily when Grantaire came, and the brunet beamed at him.

"Best piss I've ever had. Are you going to let me back in?"

"You have sacrificed your place."

"Enjolras, it is my sofa."

"I have been struck with an illness of much immediacy, it is unfortunate but true, and cannot move."

"Oh, can't you?" Grantaire liked this side of Enjolras. He didn't joke much around the group, but he knew Enjolras was more likely to joke and be less serious around select people in smaller groups.

"Regrettably, I cannot." Grantaire hooked his arms under Enjolras' body and lifted him without ceremony, retaking his spot before dropping the blond back on top of him. "I feel cruelly dislodged. Do you really want to stay in bed all day?"

"Well, on sofa. But yeah, I wouldn't mind. Why, did you change your mind? I can go grab your phone for y-"

"I didn't change my mind." Enjolras' hand moved very deliberately over Grantaire's inner thigh, down over his knee. 

"Ah, your mind has just lowered itself to the gutter, is that it?"

"Not that low. Just down to say, crotch-height." Grantaire' lip twitched, and then he full on smirked at the other man. 

"Well, perhaps your head should follow it."

"Mmm, I agree." And then, with no further pretence, Enjolras dropped his head, licking a stripe over the shaft of Grantaire's soft cock, and the brunet let out a sharp noise, grasping at the back of the sofa and the cushions he was leaning on, his head dropping back. 

"God." Enjolras worked him to hardness with surprising speed, and then his mouth was on Grantaire and it wasn't  _just_  that, God, because he had Grantaire to the fucking  _root_ , cheeks hollowed as he sucked hard, and God, God, God, that just wasn't  _fair_. 

He grabbed at the cushions with strong hands, taking in desperate little gasps as Enjolras bobbed his head, a mess of blond curls hiding his eyes, and then, dear God above, the bastard  _hummed_ , and the noise Grantaire let out was a strangled keen of sound.

When Grantaire came, Enjolras pulled back, looking obscenely smug and pleased with himself as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat, and Grantaire stared at him, lips opening and closing in a wordless fashion.

"You can suck dick." He said.

"Yes." replied Enjolras. "Can you?"

"Given time to recover." Grantaire said, and he reached forwards, taking Enjolras' slender hand in his and bringing it to his lips. Enjolras' mouth opened as he watched Grantaire wrap his lips around Enjolras' index and middle fingers, and the blond released a strangled noise, staring at Grantaire with wide eyes. 

He pulled back with a soft  _pop_  of sound, and winked. "I'll blow you in the shower."

"Sounds suspiciously like it involves moving."

"Hot water."

"Moving."

"I'll wash your hair."

" _Moving_." Grantaire pulled the quilt off Enjolras' back and threw it across the room, baring his skin to the cold morning air and laughing as Enjolras groaned. "Fine." He said, and he grinned against Grantaire's lips as the brunet pulled him close for a kiss before leading him off the couch and to the shower.


End file.
